Sympathy For The Dead
by garretelliot
Summary: What do you do when you find yourself naked in a room and a stranger with you?
1. Chapter 1

Title- Sympathy For The Dead

Disclaimer- You know if I were getting paid for this it probably wouldn't be half as good. LOL

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This is boring. I've never seen a place so dead and I mean that literally. This is a morgue, not 'like a morgue', a really honest-to-God morgue, the Boston Coroners' office to be precise. I've never seen so many dead people in one place, there's an old guy who looks kind of like my grandfather, a lady with one side of her face missing, some hot looking guy (well he'd be hot looking if he was alive) with some serious tattoos, a pregnant lady and an amazingly fat dude with one hand missing. The place is wall to wall corpses and frankly, this isn't my kind of scene.

So what might you ask am I doing here? Well I belong here, I guess. See last night I decided to take a walk in the park after midnight and lucky me, because a mugger was waiting behind some bushes. Like the idiot you just called me in your mind; I tried to fight him off and got stabbed for my trouble. So here I am lying on a cold metal table wearing nothing but a sheet. I never knew you could feel things when you're dead but the table is freezing and if my blood were still pumping I'm sure I'd be blushing over the sheet thing, so I guess the dead do feel and have emotions

My dad is going to kill me, oops bad choice of words, but trust me he'll freak big time. Ever since I moved to Boston from my tiny hometown in North Carolina, he's been telling me I'd get killed in the big bad city.

_Sorry Dad, but hey at least you know now you were right._

Anyway, here I am waiting to be sliced open like some slaughtered animal being gutted. Sorry if you're squeamish but, man this dead stuff really makes you lose all your hang ups. Well, okay, not all of them or the being naked part wouldn't bother me, I guess. But there are some things that just don't matter anymore; I don't care that my rent is a week behind or that I lost my job yesterday and the fact that I climbed into the back seat of Carl Jamison's car after Homecoming Dance ten years ago is somehow unimportant now. So your reaction to what I say is really far down on the list of things that matter to me today.

I guess I'm rambling now, but you shouldn't care, cause if you can hear me you're probably freaking out anyway. This could prove fun, now that I think of it. I mean I can weird out people without even trying hard. That's always been the way I am, unusual and a little scary. Or should that be 'the way I was'? Who cares about grammar and syntax now anyway? I'm freaking dead here and my high school English teacher is still echoing in my head.

Well here comes one of the live ones now; hey, he's not bad at all, a little old for me but then again I'm a little dead for him, so why make judgement calls. Funny, he looks so serious and sad. _Lighten up, man, it's only death; not anything major, you know? I mean wow, you look like a coroner or something_.

_Sorry, bad joke, but I'm at touch nervous about this whole autopsy business you know. I mean if I can feel the table then I'm probably gonna feel the knife and that is just too scary for words. I know you handle dead bodies all day and everything, but do you think you could take minute here and really see me? I mean, who I am, not just my body. I loved so much about life, but what I'm gonna miss the most is being touched; so before we get into this whole knife bit could you just hold my hand and maybe smile at me like the pretty girl I was is still here instead of just the shell. Smile as if you saw me in a bar and were going to ask me to dance to something slow and sweet like that old song, you know the one that goes 'The first time ever I saw your face, I thought the sun rose in your eyes'. _

_I always liked that song. My dad used to dance my mom around the kitchen when it came on the radio and I wanted to be in love like that some day. So in love that I couldn't wait for him to walk in the door, just so I could see his smile. But now I guess all I'll ever have is Carl Jamison and every other guy like him who just wanted a quick toss and 'goodbye'. _

Wow, I never realized death was so depressing.

TBC?

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A/N– What do you think guys should I continue or leave it at this. And who is she talking to, anyway?


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer- Well I can play with them even if I can't own them.

A/N - This story just won't let me go so just be patient and thank you for your reviews. I don't know how much more there might be, so I won't even hazard a guess. Enjoy folks and as always thanks to jtbwriter for her beta work and to GoddessofSnark for the great fic and the chuckles on email. Enough of me on to the story.

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Well at least now I know this guy's name is Dr. Macy. The woman talking to him called him that when she came in the room. She seems out of place here, not all tense and unhappy like this Dr. Macy. She's a lot more like me, happier but with an edge. She's standing beside me now, writing something on a form and she just called him Garret.

_Hi Garret, nice to meet you. My name is Jennifer Louise, dumb name right? My friends call me Jen or Lou and my dad called me Jennylou, but please don't call me that; I always hated it._

_I really wish I could talk to you, I know from listening to your conversation you don't know my name and that's even scarier than the knife thing. Sorry for eavesdropping by the way, but you are kind of talking overtop of me and I really can't plug my ears, you know._

_Please find out my name, I don't want to be here alone without anyone who cares knowing where I am._ _Dad will be so worried when I don't call tomorrow. I always call him on Saturdays. I wish this was Saturday and I was on the phone with him right now; we'd sit and talk about the weather here and at home and he'd tell some silly convoluted story about his fishing buddy, Frank. _

_I really could care less about good ole Frank, but I need to hear my dad's voice flowing over me talking about mundane stuff right now. Letting me know that it's going to be okay and this is just a bad dream; I'm not a ghost or anything. Hey you know I guess I am a ghost and wouldn't you know it, no Whoopi Goldberg around to tell people what I'm saying. _

_I'm scared here guys. It's cold and frightening and lonely. Lonely because you can't hear me and why won't someone touch me, hold my hand or stroke my hair the way my mom did when I had a nightmare. Please hold my hand. I am so afraid of this whole dead thing. I'm twenty-seven and it's all I can do not to start screaming, 'I want my mommy!' . How's that for pathetic, but I don't care how pitiful I sound right now; just hold my hand please._

Hey I think I just communicated cause Garret just took my hand. Not like he needs to do something, but just holding it like a friend; now he's humming that song. Oh wow, I got through to someone. I'm not a failure at this death stuff after all. Somebody heard me.

_Thank you, Garret, thank you. I think I'm ready for you to go on with the knife part. I'm not so scared now that I have a friend here with me._


End file.
